


SPNstuck (And Sit Them Down for Thanksgiving Dinner)

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Background Poly, Background Relationships, F/F, Family Drama, Multi, Remix, Rose Lalonde Gets All The Girls, Roxy Lalonde Is So Done, Strilondes, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: You still aren't entirely sure how your family got designated as hosts for the great angel/demon peace summit of 2018. The demons are obviously in it for the chaos, flames and shouting that might as well be your family's trademark. The angels make much less sense. Like, seriously, what kind of celestial morons think you and your siblings are any kind of diplomatic? And why pick Thanksgiving dinner when none of them need to eat in the first place? It's completely absurd and will only end in tears.(Oddly, the day winds up being the most successful infernal/celestial summit anyone can ever remember.)





	SPNstuck (And Sit Them Down for Thanksgiving Dinner)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maypop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maypop/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A collection of short Homestuck fics reposted here from tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972481) by [maypop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maypop/pseuds/maypop). 



> As maypop says, _Per tumblr user isozyme: "So the theory of supernaturalstuck is to take SPN, retain all the good setting shit, scoop out all the tragic manpain, and fill the void with tragic Rose Lalonde pain. In practice it is about how hot Rose is with really short hair and a lot of magic tattoos, and making fun of Sollux's butt, and what happens when you give all eight Strider-Lalondes a lot of weapons and extra battle trauma and sit them down for Thanksgiving dinner."_
> 
> I went with four Strilondes rather than eight, but otherwise, yeah, that's the basic plan for this fic. :)

You still aren't entirely sure how your family got designated as hosts for the great angel/demon peace summit of 2018. The demons are obviously in it for the chaos, flames and shouting that might as well be your family's trademark. The angels make much less sense. Like, seriously, what kind of celestial morons think you and your siblings are any kind of diplomatic? And why pick Thanksgiving dinner when none of them need to eat in the first place? It's completely absurd and will only end in tears.

You have to admit, though, it's pretty cathartic getting to herd them around like confused pigeons before the inevitable catastrophe.

You slap Karkat's hand away from the salad forks for the sixth time. "No. Bad angel. Leave the silverware alone or you won't get any pie after dinner. Or you will, but it'll be me shoving it in your face instead of serving you a slice like civilized people."

Karkat snarls. Over by the buffet, Kanaya pauses in her elaborate origami napkin-folding to shoot her fellow angel a disapproving stare. "Please stop giving the humans a bad impression of us. I am sure that is within your capacity as my respected garrison commander."

You blink. That was... that was very nearly sarcasm! "I knew sending you on that grocery run alone with Rose was a bad idea," your mouth says without your conscious permission.

"I think you and I are working off very different definitions of 'bad idea,'" Dave puts in from where he's lounging decoratively in the corner and pretending he's not photoshopping wings and halos onto random photos of your quote unquote guests.

"If you have time to criticize, you have time to make yourself useful," you say. "Go to the kitchen and ask Rose why it's taking so long to carve the frick-fracking turkey. Knives are her _thing_ , this should be a snap. And bring the salad or some other side dish back out with you."

Dave pouts. "Shoo!" you tell him, and make little flapping gestures until he sighs and ambles toward the hallway.

(Whoever designed your ancestral house was a pretentious dickwad, you think, not for the first time. Like, breakfast nooks are great and all, but why put the formal dining room so far from the actual food? That's just asking for weird spills and collisions in the hallway as you move awkwardly balanced stuff from point A to location B.

In another life, you might have been an architect. It sounds like a much more restful job than hunter and supernatural nuisance-wrangler.)

In this life, though, you set your hands on your hips and examine the ridiculously pretentious dining room. You and Dave have done your best to make it slightly less pretentious -- though the less said about his ideas for a traditional Thanksgiving playlist, and his attempts to convince the angels that Thanksgiving playlists are even a thing, the better -- and now it looks a little bit like a first grade arts-and-crafts fair vomited over a prissy Victorian museum-grade drawing room. Which is maybe not the best backdrop for Serious Diplomatic Negotiations, but what the hockey sticks, you'll start as you expect to conclude: namely, in chaos.

Hopefully you can at least limit the chaos to the official invitee list, and come out with your house still standing. And on that note, you shuffle around the table, with its precarious load of china and silver (because what's the point of owning china you never use? and anyway, you've always disliked the pattern so if half the plates break, oops, whatever), to lean over Dirk's shoulder as he quickly minimizes windows on his laptop so it looks like he was monitoring the security cameras and wards.

"How's Jane?" you ask.

He sighs. "You're supposed to give me plausible deniability, not air my dirty laundry in front of beings of vast cosmic power and unpredictable reactions." But he un-minimizes the Skype chat window like a good brother. "Jane's gloating about her fancy tropical Thanksgiving vacation and lack of extra-planar guests. Also trying to convince me she doesn't use black magic to get her banana cream pies to turn out perfect."

"Tell her I am on to her tricks, and I know she's really just jealous the angels like our family best."

Dirk tips his head back and raises one eyebrow at you.

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good gloat-off," you remind him. He shrugs, and starts typing.

"Hey!" Karkat not-quite-shouts from the far side of the table. "You, pink Lalonde. Roxy. The napkins are done but the food and demons are still missing. Is your family always this unreliable?"

"We're extremely reliable about saving people and killing things," Dirk says in a voice as bland as graham crackers. "Roxy and I can demonstrate if you'd like."

"What was that you were just saying about phenomenal cosmic powers and no ability to read the room?" you hiss under your breath, but you plaster on your best disconcertingly bright smile and give Karkat and Kanaya two finger pistols and a wink.

Karkat's borrowed body flushes as red as the wattles of the turkey on his truly unfortunate festive Thanksgiving sweater, obviously winding up for an epic rant. (The guy has no poker face whatsofuckingever. It's kind of adorable, in an overly loud fashion.) But Kanaya reaches over and strokes one elegant finger down the bridge of his nose before he can get going, and he deflates like a premature ejaculation.

"I'm sure we can take your competence at violence on faith," Kanaya says. "However, while my esteemed commander's presentation may leave something to be desired" -- which is an astonishing bit of cheek, considering she's the one who picked out Karkat's sweater -- "his point remains valid. It is difficult to hold a diplomatic summit if one's counterparts abscond before the start of negotiations, and your other brother has yet to return from the kitchen."

Ugh. You hate it when people criticizing your family have valid points. That this happens a lot is irrelevant. _You're_ the only one who's allowed to call them dumbasses.

You sigh, cross your arms, then uncross them just in case one of the angels has learned enough about body language to read that as a defensive or challenging move. "Yeah, you're right. Time to stage an expedition. Dirk, you're excused as long as you spend at least half your time making sure Feferi doesn't sneak through the wards again."

Dirk tosses you a tiny salute. "You do realize that if I don't get more data on how she does it, we'll never be sure if the countermeasures actually work or if she's just pretending until the night she murders us all in our sleep. But sure. Mission accepted."

"Dork," you say, and slide around the table before he can retaliate for your destruction of his impractically precise hairdo.

"So, the kitchen! Please ignore the creepy portraits in the hall; they're family heirlooms and if we ever got rid of them, I think our grandparents would physically break out of heaven just to give us dirty looks."

"That seems like an extremely unbalanced ratio of effort to effect," Kanaya says. You glance up at her to see if she's being serious or sarcastic. You almost can't tell, but then the corner of her lip twitches ever so slightly.

Yeah, letting her spend time alone with Rose was a bad idea. Your baby sister could corrupt a saint.

(That's not speculative. You saw that flirtation with your own two eyes, and you're _still_ not sure which is more impressive: Rose's ability to make terrible lines sound smooth and sincere, or her ability to compartmentalize that underneath all the mystic temporary resurrection mumbo-jumbo, she was macking on a corpse. A hot corpse in desperate need of comfort, sure, but even so. Corpse.

You have never really gotten the appeal of zombies and vampires and demons and shit. Dead bodies, whether reanimated or possessed, are just gross and sad. Aliens, on the other hand... But you live in an urban fantasy novel, not a space opera. Aliens are not in your cards, much though you might wish otherwise.)

You push open the kitchen door to a scene of chaos. Rose has Terezi in a headlock on the cheap linoleum tiles, rolling around like they can't decide if they're trying to murder each other or indulging in highly athletic foreplay. Sollux is on the floor beside them, trying to fend their flailing feet away from the legs of the card table holding all your carefully prepared side dishes. And Dave, the traitor, is eating stuffing with his fingers and doing sweet fuck-all to lower the tension.

You bury your head in your hands. "I swear we're not always like this."

"Liar," Dave says, waving two stuffing-coated fingers. "Also, hi. I saved the pies from getting tipped all over the floor when our favorite sister and her favorite demon tried to knock over the fridge, so I figured I'd earned a reward. Pretty tasty, even if it never saw the inside of the turkey's guts." He sticks his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.

Beside you, Karkat coughs and turns bright red again.

Morbidly curious, you turn to the other angel.

Kanaya is watching Rose and Terezi with the expression of a woman who's just tasted chocolate for the first time.

Goddammit.

How does Rose _do that?_ What is her secret? You can't even get John Evasive-Is-My-Middle-Name Egbert to admit he likes you when you've been sleeping together off and on for the past six months, and here she is pulling in supernatural girlfriends like butterflies to a puddle of saltwater.

Well, if you're very lucky you might be able to wrangle this mess into some kind of polyamorous marriage alliance between heaven, hell, and earth. You should probably feel bad that you're ready to sacrifice your baby sister on the altar of paranormal peace treaties, but you know what? If anybody is up to the challenge, it's Rose. And you will play flower girl at the wedding, wish her luck, and maybe finally get a chance to join Jane on a tropical vacation with nothing to do but eat delicious pie and plot ways to get her cousin back into your bed.

"Hey, Feferi's here," Dirk says from behind you.

Kanaya turns. Her eyes widen. The tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her lips.

"Hi, meet your future wife," you say. "Your other two future wives are down there on the floor. If you help me get them up before they destroy our dinner, I'll tell you all of Rose's weak points so you'll have half a chance of not letting her bulldoze all over you."

"Deal!" Feferi says. "Nice to meet you, angel. You have exkrillent taste in vessels and clothes, and also in potential girlfriends. Now let's go haul them off to a bedroom where we can all get to know each other."

"Mmmpf!" Terezi says around the muffling gag of Rose's tattooed forearm. She kicks, and -- because Sollux has either remembered he doesn't actually care about preventing chaos, or is busily retreating in the face of two new entrants to the erotic wrestling match -- her foot hits the card table. It sways like a hammock in a hurricane. Half the dishes slide off in a cascade of glass and sweet potatoes.

You consider whether you have enough energy to care. On due consideration, probably not. "Fuck it. I quit. Dave, bring the stuffing--"

"--dressing--"

"--the variably-named glop that you are unsanitarily eating with your easy-to-remove fingers, and Sollux, wipe off that cranberry sauce and grab the pies from the fridge. We'll order pizza to make up for the turkey and leave these four to their fate."

"But--" Karkat says. You glare him into silence, and hey, look at that, you _can_ still project the patented Lalonde woman aura of "shut up or suffer a fate worse than death." It stopped working on your brothers years ago and you've been worried you were losing your touch. Apparently you just need the proper motivation, since even Dave is snapping to respectfully.

(Oddly, the day winds up being the most successful infernal/celestial summit anyone can ever remember. You graciously decide not to rub that in Jane's face.

You are not gracious enough to refrain from teasing Rose about her harem.

It's been far too long since you had any ammunition that could make your baby sister blush. And besides, three girlfriends turns out to be just enough to finally make her take a break and relax before she works herself to death.

You can put up with a lot more than weird in-laws for that.)


End file.
